Sinking
by ElizabethAnnFanfic
Summary: Missing scenes fic for 7x10 Sein und Zeit and post-ep fic for 7x11 Closure. Angst, UST, MSR, and Humor. Ch1 is largely drawn on scenes from Sein und Zeit, using transcript dialog paired with Scully's POV. C2 is new material.
1. Chapter 1

Timeline: 7x10 _Sein und Zeit_.

Category: Missing Scenes

She was beginning to think that Mulder was leveling out a bit. He'd been spending more time with her outside of the Bureau and the time they had spent together was blessedly angst-free. Magicians, snake cults, and the like might take up their professional time, but Mulder seemed more emotionally grounded. Nevertheless, she knew the one thing that could shake him to his core: his sister, Samantha. And this case of the missing Amber Lynn girl was just the sort of thing that set Mulder off.

It worried her really, him demanding to be a part of a case that she knew couldn't be good for him. She feared that each time he indulged in this particular obsession he would become that much harder to reel back in. Maybe one day he wouldn't be salvageable. She could only hope that day didn't come.

And perhaps she wasn't the only one that felt this way about this particular obsession of Mulder's. Skinner had pulled her aside, eager to put a stop to Mulder's unwanted interference. "Try to talk to him."

"I have. He's not listening to me."

"Make him understand, Agent Scully."

She wasn't sure she could save Mulder from himself. She wasn't sure she could rescue him from drowning. And there was a distinct possibility that when he went down, he would pull her under as well. Not that Mulder would willfully sacrifice her to his quest: he'd once been given that choice, and on that bridge he'd chosen his partner over what he had thought to be his sister. No, she would be a victim of the silent emotional stake she held in her partner--it would be she who would begin to pull apart at the seams should Mulder martyr himself. Mulder may have been dependent on her at first, but now she was firmly convinced that they were both fully and mutually dependent. For better or for worse.

"Skinner is royally pissed. At you."

"I'm sure he is."

"He expected a report at noon. He waited. Now he sent me to find you, to get it."

"I don't have a report."

"They had to move on the case. The media got wind of the police findings and they're going to broadcast them. The parents are being held for further question."

"They're not guilty, Scully."

Scully knew Mulder would say this, and she was fairly sure her logic wouldn't convince him otherwise. "The facts would say otherwise. There's no sign of a break-in. Both the parents were at home at the time that the girl disappeared."

"They lied about where they found the note."

"Why?"

"That's what I've been thinking about."

"Is it the media or just your own morbid fascination with the killing of an innocent?"

"She's not dead, Scully."

She tried to warn him. She tried to speak to his rational self. She tried in vain. "You're personalizing this case. You're identifying with your sister." She knew beyond a doubt that Mulder couldn't put aside his sister—he was too close to the case. Mulder might be the psychologist, but he was hopelessly blind when it came to his own weaknesses.

"My sister was taken by aliens. Did I say anything about aliens, Scully?" His tone was mocking, distant…nothing more than static.

Yes, it was becoming painfully clear that she couldn't save him from himself. "You're doing exactly what I said. You're personalizing this case."

He was so adamant, so obsessively insistent: "No, I'm going to solve this case. I am going to solve it…I'm going to find those kids."

What if he did; what if he found them and what he found dragged him under. "What if they're dead, Mulder? Don't go looking for something you don't want to find."

...

It was the sort of thing that she didn't want to have to tell Mulder. Let someone else bring him bad tidings for once. But who else could tell him something like this? If she was his anchor, it had to be her, no matter how unpleasant a message. She would have to tell him and then she would have to try to catch him when he fell. She walked through the Bureau, her heels echoing in her ears. How do you say it? What kind of words do you use? "Mulder, your mom's dead."

She had been watching him carefully for days now: first due to the missing child case and now over his mother's death. She watched him as he paced around his mother's house. She had insisted on coming with him, and he had barely acknowledged the request one way or the other. Her stomach began to knot as Mulder looked into the empty picture frames.

"She saw me on the news. She wanted to talk about the missing girl, Amber Lynn. She wanted to tell me something about her, or maybe she couldn't tell me over the phone because she was afraid that they would do something like this to her."

Scully didn't need to be the psychologist in this partnership to surmise that Mulder was demonstrating signs of paranoia. She wanted to reel him in, but she wasn't sure how best to do it. "Who?"

"Whoever took my sister. Look at this place. I mean, it's like… it's all staged—the pills, the oven, the tape. It's like a bad movie script. They would…they would have come here and they would have threatened her. She would be upset; they would have to sedate her. I would look for a, uh…a needle puncture mark or something else in her system besides these pills."

The knot in her stomach twisted. "No, Mulder. Please don't ask me to do this." She couldn't do it—she couldn't slice into Mulder's mother.

His eyes were desperate: "Scully, who else can I ask?"

"An autopsy, Mulder? I mean, it's one thing on a stranger but you're my friend, and she's your mother…"

"I know, but if you don't do it, I might never know the truth."

Mulder and his Truth. Scully was sure that he was wrong, sure that the truth he was looking for would not be confirmed in an autopsy. Having Mulder's complete trust could bring with it numerous un-pleasantries. Performing this autopsy, in order to shake Mulder of whatever his fevered brain was concocting would just have to be yet another drawback to being his touchstone.

"I'll do it, but you're coming back to D.C. with me right now. No more Amber Lynn for now." Mulder rocked back on his heels, considering. She wasn't going to leave him alone: in his moment of hesitancy she decided not to let him voice any objections. "Come on, Mulder," she said, placing her hand on his arm.

...

Mulder's grip around her waist was almost painfully tight. Scully rhythmically ran her hands through his hair, trying to soothe him with soft the 'shhh's that her mother used to make when she'd hurt herself as a child. Scully was unaware of how much time had passed before Mulder's grip slackened some and she stood from the crouching position she had been in. Mulder remained hunched over in his desk chair, resting his head in his hands.

Scully moved a few steps to his couch, sitting down on the edge and leaning forward to squeeze Mulder's leg. "Come here," she urged. She wanted him to get away from his desk—get far enough away from his message machine that he wouldn't press 'play' again. His head swung to look at her. He looked so broken—so damaged. "Come here," she repeated with another squeeze. He continued to stare at her fixedly. "Sit by me, Mulder," she pleaded. His face finally registered some understanding and he stood slowly coming to sit beside her, so that their legs were touching.

They sat there for some time with only the sound of Mulder's fish tank providing any distraction in the deadening silence. Scully sat looking down at her lap, knowing that Mulder was staring blankly ahead. She had been anxious earlier in the week, now she was nearly completely drained: she knew it had fallen to her lot to save Mulder, if she could. When she'd been assigned to debunk Mulder's work, she had no idea that she would have to play savior. Finally, Mulder's hand snaked out and grasped Scully's from her thigh, pulling it into his own lap. She chanced a look up at him, and his gaze caught hers.

"This is worse," he said, tears still welling up in his eyes.

Scully shook her head. She didn't know what he meant.

"This is worse," he repeated.

She swallowed, wishing she could understand.

"It's easier to hate Them. To blame Them. It's harder to know this is all my fault." Mulder's voice caught on his last word.

Scully's brows knit together. "No, Mulder," she said softly.

He squeezed her hand tightly. "Haven't you noticed, Scully, that everything I touch turns to shit?" he asked.

"Mulder, no. Mulder, your mother's death has nothing to do with you."

His face displayed his disbelief. "Scully, you're clever. Put the evidence together. Since you've known me how many good things have happened to you? To your family? To mine?"

Scully pulled her hand from Mulder's grip, taking his face in her hands. "Listen to me, Mulder. What happened to your mother had nothing to do with you. Don't do this. Don't put everything on yourself." Her tone was firm—she wanted to make him believe. After he remained silent for a few moments, Scully thought she might have won her point and she released his face. "And the other things…those other things…they have nothing to do with you either. Those things were _their _fault."

Mulder shook his head weakly. "Why didn't she tell me? Why would she keep that from me"

"I don't know, Mulder. Maybe she was trying to spare you. Parents do that."

He gripped the sides of his head. "Maybe there was something I could have done."

"There wasn't. No one could." Mulder continued to press on the sides of his head, until Scully pulled one of his hands away from his face. He seemed as if he was about to explode again. "Mulder," she said firmly. He looked down at her. "Mulder, do you trust me?" He looked away, but she pulled his gaze back with slight pressure from her fingertips on his chest. "Mulder, answer me."

"Scully," he pleaded, shaking his head.

"Do you?"

He sighed running his hand through his hair. "You know I do!" he said through gritted teeth.

"Then listen to me. You do this—you blame yourself for everything. But, you have to trust me." He paused, and Scully thought she could see his jaw muscles loosen. "You can't blame yourself for this. Your mother wouldn't have wanted you to do this to yourself." He looked away from her briefly. "She didn't blame you…and I don't blame you for anything either. Nothing."

Another sob caught in Mulder's throat, and he wrapped his arm around Scully's shoulder, pulling her head into his chest. He rested his chin on the top of her silky red hair, shutting his eyes tightly.

* * *

'I don't deserve this kind of dedication,' he thought. "Why are you here?" he asked raggedly.

"I wanted to check on you," she said into his shirt.

"But, why?"

Scully pulled back from his clasp, shaking her head in disbelief. "Why?"

"Yes. Why are you here?" Mulder desperately wanted to know. Was she motivated by duty, pity, clinical concern?

"Because, Mulder. That's what _we _do."

Her words were simple; they felt like a balm to his soul.

* * *

After a long and mostly sleepless night, Scully had awakened to the sound of rapping on Mulder's apartment door. Mulder sat up quickly, seemingly already awake, but she reached out to stop him.

"I'll get it," she said slipping off of the bed and walking from his bedroom. She felt stiff from the awkward position she had been in and her feet hurt from never having taken off her shoes. She had been so grateful that Mulder had finally agreed to lie down that she had forgotten to slip her shoes off.

She opened the door. Skinner stood before her. She couldn't have been less pleased.

"Hi."

"Hi," she responded flatly. 'Yes, I'm here. Where else would I be?' she thought inwardly. Of course, she could tell that Skinner was perhaps regrettably unsurprised by her appearance at Mulder's door.

"How's he doing?"

"It's been a hard night for him." 'And I wish you would just leave him alone,' she added silently. Maybe she could will Skinner away.

"Billie LaPierre is asking for him. She's got something to say and she'll only talk to Mulder."

She wanted to slam the door in his face. Mulder's mother is dead. Mulder's mother is dead, and he blames himself. He blames himself for everything. Billie LaPierre can go to hell.

"It's not a good…" Scully was interrupted by Mulder's appearance next to her at the door. She swallowed, wishing he'd stayed in the bedroom.

"What is it?" Mulder asked.

"This case has heated up. I've booked two flights for us."

Mulder nodded and walked back into the apartment.

Scully blinked. Her best efforts were still failing. "Well, then you better book three."


	2. Chapter 2

Timeline: 7x11 _Closure_.

Category: Post-episode fiction

Those three words—I'm free—echoed in Scully's ears as she sat alone in her hotel room. It was hard to believe; hard to believe that after all those years, he could put it all aside. She was happy for him, deeply happy, if it was true, but she couldn't help but worry that Mulder's emotions were merely riding a crest that was preceding a trough. How many other times had his hopes been crushed? How many times had he been manipulated.

She could hear the shower running in the room next to hers: Audible evidence that he was at least more functional than he had been the other night, when she had tried to coax him into the shower and he had refused to move from his couch for several hours. She had failed in her endeavor to get him under the spray of hot water that she thought might be soothing, but she had eventually convinced him to lay down in his bed. She'd slipped off her jacket and propped herself up on pillows alongside him; he'd rested his sleepless head in her lap like a child.

The water stopped and Scully was awakened from her semi-trance like state. She stood up and walked into her bathroom, pulling her toothbrush out of her black and white travel case. Her bathroom backed up to his and she could hear the fan turn off and the click of his bathroom door. Watching herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth, Scully wondered if Mulder would be able to sleep tonight. The nightmares…the insomnia…did it all stop tonight? He'd said it—I'm free—but she couldn't quiet her concern.

She walked back into the bedroom and perched on the edge of the bed, listening for the sound of Mulder's TV set. That sound was a constant in their travels together. Football, baseball, and basketball games, cheesy old sci-fi movies, movies with cheerleaders, secretaries, and women named Bambi. She waited, but the normal low hum of voices failed to emerge from beyond the other side of the wall. Scully wanted to check on him. She glanced down at herself: she had already changed into her black satin pajamas. She rolled her eyes at herself, tucking her hair behind her ears and walking to the door that connected their rooms: he wasn't going to be looking at her. Surely he had other concerns.

She knocked tentatively on the thick metal door.

"Yeah?"

"Can I come in?"

"It's open," he called back in response.

She tried the knob and it turned. She wondered to herself, 'when did Mulder start unlocking the doors between us?' She pushed the door open just a few inches, poking her head around to see Mulder splayed out on top of the comforter with his hands laced behind his head. The only light in the room came from his bathroom door, which was cracked open.

"Hey," she said quietly.

"You come to tuck me in?" he asked with a half smile.

Scully opened the door wider, leaning against its frame. "You want some company?" she asked.

Mulder patted the spot next to him on the bed.

Scully walked in the room. Mulder always smelled of soap—something clean and only slightly noticeable when she was close to him; the whole room smelled like Mulder from his recent shower. She crossed in front of the double bed before crawling onto it and sitting against the headboard. The TV was off, as she had suspected. There were no files strewn over the bed. Mulder seemingly intended on going to sleep…or trying to.

She crossed her arms across her chest. "Geez you've got it cold in here." Mulder was always taking hot showers that fogged up the bathroom before cranking down the AC to inhuman temperatures.

"Here, get under," Mulder said, sitting upright and pulling back the covers.

Scully pulled her legs up, tucking herself under the scratchy sheets. "No Tailhook concerns, Mulder?" she quipped.

"Nah, I could take you," he said slipping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. She tensed for just the briefest of moments, before sinking into his hold.

She considered the lack of typical distractions in the room and wondered if she had done the wrong thing by knocking on his door. She was always telling him to get some sleep, and it appeared as if he was attempting to do just that. "I'm not disturbing you?"

Mulder shook his head, 'no': "but you missed bath time."

"Well, you didn't drown. Looks like it turned out okay," she said smoothing her hands over the comforter.

"I'm okay, Scully," he said looking down at her. His tone was serious; he was no longer teasing her.

She looked at him, and she realized that he still was wearing that look—that look of peace.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he said taking one of her hands with his free hand and giving it a squeeze.

She laced her fingers with his. "I've been worried…"

"I know. But this is good."

Scully thought for a moment. "What's good?"

Mulder licked his lips. "The dead aren't lost to us, Scully. Samantha, my mother, my father…your sister, your father…Emily. They can speak to us."

Scully looked down at the ugly floral comforter, blinking back tears. "Yes," she said quietly, "and we have to listen." They had spoken to her on occasion, and she had sometimes found it hard to believe what she heard.

"I've been looking to the stars for answers. I'd like to think that I finally got the one that's most important."

Scully nodded slowly.

"You were right, Scully. My mother, she was telling me what she already knew—Samantha is gone. She was gone before I ever started looking. I didn't fail her—she was already gone."

Scully squeezed his hand.

"Where my sister is…there is no blame, Scully." Mulder let go of Scully's hand and reached up to her neck, running his fingers just under the v of her top, hooking the chain that her cross hung from. He pulled at the chain, bringing out the cross to lie across her neck. He paused, his hand hovering over her neck, before lightly pressing the cross to her breastbone with the palm of his hand.

Scully looked up at Mulder, realizing that he was staring intently at her. It was slightly discomfiting, given their proximity and situation.

"You must be tired," he said pulling away his hand. His face looked concerned.

What a ridiculous reversal: she had been worried about him for days and now one look at her and he was the one who was worried. Scully brushed her hand over her forehead self-consciously. "I, uh…I look it, huh?"

His mouth barely turned up at the corners and he leaned in towards her. Scully could feel her pulse begin to race as he paused inches away from her face. She couldn't look him in the eyes, afraid of what she might see there, so she stared at his chin. Maybe tonight really wasn't the night to drop by her partner's hotel room. His lips brushed hers for just the briefest of moments, so that she had no time to react. Just the sensation of warmth—the most chaste of kisses.

"I've been keeping you up for days," Mulder said disentangling himself from her and swinging his legs off the bed before standing up. Scully began to sit more upright, but Mulder stopped her, putting out his hand. "No, stay put," he said, turning back his corner of the covers. Scully watched him wordlessly. "Roll over," he said gesturing away from himself. Scully slowly rolled onto her side, glancing back for a moment at her partner. Her seemingly calm partner. Her seemingly calm partner who had just kissed her, who had just lost his mother, who had just declared that he no longer needed to seek out his sister. Who was asking her to stay with him: and she was going to comply.

The room was cold, but Scully could feel the heat from Mulder's body as the bed swayed under his weight and he pulled up the covers over the both of them. She swallowed, staring forward at the pastel green seashell hotel wallpaper only dimly visible in the darkness. Mulder adjusted himself in the bed, resting his head on the pillow directly behind her. Scully tried to focus on her breathing, but she still couldn't quiet her brain.

"Mulder?" she finally said.

"Mmm?" he already sounded thick with sleep. "Mulder, you know there's no blame here either."

Mulder's arm snaked around her waist, pulling her closer to him. He tucked his head down against her own, drawing in a deep breath of her lemon-scented shampoo and kissing the crown of her head. "We both can sleep tonight, Scully."


End file.
